Little Buddha Blessed

When I talked to my mother on Sunday she reminded me to blog about my adventures this weekend. I've been trying ever since to write something. But I just don't want to. I'd rather tell you this instead.

Grant was home this weekend. He got in on Friday and pulled out again on Tuesday morning. That day I woke up early for no reason, called the base number that lets me check what time the ship leaves, and headed down to the pier. I had never watched the ship pull out before. In the past it always seemed like such a sad thing.

The day was gray. I wound my fingers through the chain link fence at the pier, trying to decide if I could see Grant among the sailors manning the rails. He was supposed to do it this time. It turned out he was on shift, so he had to stay below. But I didn't know that at the time.

I moved further down the shore, to a place with a chest-height fence so I could see half the boat instead of just the stern. A mother came up beside me carrying a little girl. The child wore a pink romper. She had a solemn face and chubby fists and she was barefoot.

Her mother set her down in the grass. For a long moment the little girl stared at her feet curling her toes slowly and then uncurling them again. Every small thing that caught her eye became the object of deep study.

Her face stayed serious, like a gourmet taking the first bite of what might turn out to be an excellent dish. I longed to see her laugh. Finally she smiled. She wasn't pretty, not at all. But she was beautiful.

Later, as the ship was pulling out I crouched to give my legs a rest. She crouched too and began selecting rocks from the edge of the grass. She handed me two, each one dropped gently from her chubby fist to my outstretched palm.

I looked at them carefully. They were both perfectly normal rocks. Both gray. Both dirty on the bottom. Both lacking any characteristic to set them apart from the others ranged at her feet.

But these were the ones Gwen gave me and so these were the ones I put into my pocket.

I carried them in my pocket all day and emptied them onto my dresser at night. I plan on keeping them. I don't know why.

I leave you today with a quote from Phillip J. Fry of my favorite T.V. show Futurama, "Why aren't we out doing everything I ever dreamed of?"